Neptune's Dolphins

 

Gliding over to Tataya, the gaunt specter stops in puzzlement. “Madame Wife, no lit fire for me? No hot soup? Are you not you glad to see me?”

 

Tataya whitens, “Go away, Husband. Just go.” Shaken, she tries to step around him, but the Ghost, who now has form and substance, continues to block her. “Wife, why no welcome? Why no musicians playing their lyres for my arrival?”

 

Before he loses his last nerve, Remutu stammers, “Noble Gidim, can-can-can you tell-tell us the witches that your wife sicced on Nabu-Sama-Iskien? Em… follow-follow us, and we will give-give you barley broth.”

 

“NO!” screams Tataya. She starts to punch the astonished specter with her fists. Her earrings jangle and her necklaces rattle sounding discordant chords.

 

Her dead husband holds her at arm length. “What? Why?”

 

“Leave ME alone. I never loved you. I’m glad you’re dead. I HATE YOU. I HATE HIM. I HATE ALL OF YOU.”

 

Panicked Nabu-Sama-Iskien flies at Tataya. Slamming into her, he falls on top of her, the brick walkway under them. “TELL ME! TELL ME!” The frantic man pounds Tataya’s head against the bricks. A trickle of dark blood seeps out from her hair. Putting his dirty fingers in the sticky liquid, Nabu-Sama-Iskien faints at the metallic scent.

 

Silence like the fog envelops the little group.

 

The orange and red sky blossoms into blues and purples. Remutu glances at the Ghost and the Fly, who ignore him. He stammers, “She-she want-want him dead. All dead. All of-of ‘em.”

 

The Ghost of Tataya’s Husband stands transfixed by the ghastly scene. For what seems to be an eternity, he remains silent. Then the Ghost turns to the Fly. Softly, he says, “I wish to atone for my wife’s actions.” He kneels down at her body. “Tataya, you are dead. Tell them, or else. DO NOT make me furious.”

 

“BOATMAN! WE HAVE THE NAMES. NOW GO!”

Pushing through the gathered crowd, Remutu and Iltani come for her weeping husband. As he rocks back and forth, Nabu-Sama-Iskien compulsively plucks at his bloodstained kilt. While the large boatman stands between the diminutive Iltani and the restive crowd, she crouches beside her distraught husband. She takes his hand into hers. “Come home, Husband. We are all well.”

 

Blankly, Nabu-Sama-Iskien stares at his wife. Iltani tenderly squeezes his hand. “Husband, we are alive because of you.” Rising, she gently pulls him up, and takes his arm. Iltani quietly guides him through the crowd.

 

Sitting in Remutu’s reed boat, Iltani rubs Nabu-Sama-Iskien’s back. The only sound is Remutu’s grunts as he poles the craft. The round silver moon guides them home.

 

Since this is the time in Sumer when the Dead return to dine with the living, I am presenting a ghost story. I wrote this myself with a lot of research into the City of Ur.

 

Between Love and Madness

The summer sun rules the countryside of lower Mesopotamia, lingering longer each day. Heat saps the city of Uruk, which longs for the coolness of the brief night. Smokey haze hangs over the subdued city from numerous braziers. Under the sun’s glare, the passage from the Underworld opens. Now, ghosts wander the city searching for their former families. Even in the brilliant sunlight, Darkness lurks.

 

Yellow sunshine washes over the white-washed brick home of Nabu-Sama-Iskien. Home for the midday meal, the scribe dines with his assembled family. Sitting in the cool of his shaded courtyard, he relaxes on his carved tamarisk chair. Enjoying the shade of the palms, the squat toad of a man sips his warm beer from a ceramic bowl. Placing it on the low dining table, he points his reed straw at Bitiatum. “Daughter, do not slurp. Use a straw for your beer porridge.”

 

“Husband, leave the little one alone.” Sighing, his quiet mouse of a wife puts a straw in the toddler’s chubby hand. Smoothing Bitiatum’s rumpled tunic, Ilanti wipes her daughter’s chin. After filling the girl’s bowl, her mother turns to … “Bitti!”

 

The little girl slumps forward shattering her bowl. Grey porridge splatters on Nabu-Sama-Iskien. Jumping up, he screams at the fallen child. “Now, look at my white kilt! It is freshly laundered.”

 

“Stop, Husband!” Ilanti, attentively raises her hand. Turning to their two teenaged boys eating under the palms, she yells, “Puzu, take Enlil and fetch the doctor! Quickly find the Asiputu Nidintu!” Ilanti searches for a faint pulse on her daughter’s neck. Finding one, she gently coos, “Bitti, Bitti.”

 

Ilanti settles her daughter’s body into her soft lap. Her thin fingers search for Bitti’s amulet. The bronze head of Pazuzu is missing. The canine head with the bulging eyes can no longer ward off any demon or ghost.

 

Clad her garish fish regalia, a grey-haired woman strides into the courtyard, followed by an incandescent green fly. Nodding to the gathered family, the Asiputu sets her blue bowl on the sturdy table. “The little girl?” Nidintu points to the small body lying on the lap of Ilanti.

 

Nidintu pours her olive oil and water into her divining bowl. Then she quietly prays. “O Merciful Healing Gula, guide my divination. Merciful Enlil, Holder of the Tablets of Fate, be at my right hand. Fierce Nergal, Bringer of Death, be at my left hand. O Divine Nergal hold your demons, send your galla away. Bless my divination of water and oil. Divine and Wise Enki, show what I need to know.” She turns to the large house fly. “Fly of Nergal, help me diagnose what is wrong.”

 

After a long silence of staring at her sacred bowl, Nidintu lifts her fish-head cowl. “OUT! OUT! Evil Maskim!” She gestures to the two lanky boys staring at her. “YOU take flour and make a circle around your sister and mother.” The asiputu turns to Nabu-Sama-Iskien, “You take your older daughter, and white-wash a circle around your doorway. NOW. Your daughter has been attacked by maskim. We need to stop all of the demons.”

 

The rail-thin asiputu stoops to whisper in the stubby scribe’s ear. “Your family will die before sundown unless…” When Nabu-Sama-Iskien faints, she dumps tepid water on his head. Nidintu puts her hatchet face into his full moon one. “You must find out the names of the witches who cursed you. Go to the canal outside of this city ward. Ask for the Boatman Remutu. He owes me for a healing. He will take you wherever you need to go.” Grabbing Nabu-Sama-Iskien’s flabby arm, she presses her bony fingers deep. “Follow the Fly of Nergal. I need this information before sundown to perform the Maqulu, the Burning to save your family. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? NOW GO!”

 

The early afternoon sun bakes the city as Nabu-Sama-Iskien plods along. Farmers with wagons full of dates, onions, and peas dodge the muttering scribe. Laborers carrying jugs of olive oil and beer bump into him to go faster. Deep in self-pity, he steps into the fresh dung dropped by the sheep which are being herded around him. “Why Remutu? Why me? Why flies? I detest those insects! Who wants me dead? What harm have I done to anyone?”

 

Assaulted by the fetid smells of the canal, Nabu-Sama-Iskien chokes and gasps for breath. “Yo! Soft Hands, you talkin’ to me?” taunts a colossal mountain of a man standing next to his broad reed boat. Swatting at a swarm of flies, the burly boatman mutters, “Demon flies!” Remutu shakes his fly whisk at the scribe’s leather sandals, “Hey, Three-Names, stop bringin’ the flies with you!”

 

Flustered, Nabu-Sama-Iskien raises his manicured hands. “Please Boatman Remutu, help me! The Asiputu Nidintu said that you would help.” He flaps his sweaty arms at the boatman who is busy attacking flies. “Do not do that! That is the Fly of Nergal! Nidintu’s Fly!”

 

“So?”

 

“Remutu, I must discover who cursed my family. They are going to expire at sundown. Argh, detestable flies! I abhor flies.” Nabu-Sama-Iskien slaps at the curved prow of the high boat. “Argh.” His palm is now covered with sticky bitumen.

 

“Hey! I just waterproofed everythin’ Soft Hands. For the love of the Gods, just get in the boat, sit down, and shut up.”

 

Gingerly stepping into the rocking boat, Nabu-Sama-Iskien says, “The Fly says to go to the Eanna District.”

 

“O, just wonderf’l. Clear to the other side of the city. And the ghosts. And the Wall ‘round it. What are you thinkin’?” grumbles Remutu.

 

“Please, my family will …”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Taking his pole in hand, Remutu starts down the busy canal.

 

In Sumer, the month is called Ne-izi-gar, and in Babylon, it is Abu. These names refer to the rituals for the Dead. There are three that are done during this month – the Maqlu (the Burning), the Ne-izi-gar (The Return of the Dead), and Ab/pum (the Offering at the Mounds).

 

As the moon wanes until it disappears completely (The Day of the Disappearance of the Moon), malevolent spirits come out. Because this is a perilous time for the living, the Maqlu ritual is conducted. First, offerings are made to the Gods of Fire, Nusku and Girra, at night. Then at dawn, people recite the following, “Evil demon, to your steppe” or “Get out evil rabisu! Come in, good rabisu!” Afterwards, they encircle the entrance of their homes with flour paste,

 

The Ne-izi-gar is the Festival of Ghosts, when the Dead eat a ceremonial meal with their families. The Benevolent Dead have to follow a special passage from the dark Netherworld to the land of the living. For these Dead to find their way to their families, the people light torches.

 

Three days before the full moon, offerings are made for the journey of the Ancestors. When the full moon arrives, the doors of the Netherworld are at their widest. This is the time when Ancestors return through the ab/pum (the mound). (The ab/pum is a mound placed over the passage to the Netherworld.) At the Abe (Ab/pum) festival, beer, honey, oil and wine are poured into the mound. Then the person places their foot over the ab/pum and kisses the ground.

 

Since the Dead do not sever their ties to the living, Babylonians regard death as a transition from being human to that of a gidim (spirit). After dying, the gidim is reunited with their dead relatives, and assigned a place in the Netherworld. Funeral rites ensure the gidim’s integration into that world. Offerings of food and water are made since the Netherworld have little of either for nourishment. If they do not receive this, then the gidim will become vicious and haunt the living. In Babylonian theology, diseases are often caused by the angry Dead.

 

Notes: The Netherworld is known by many names – arali, irkalla, kukku, ekur, kigal, and ganzi. Kur means “the land of no return.”